


Hidden

by Starshe11



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-02
Updated: 2018-04-02
Packaged: 2019-04-17 08:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14184549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starshe11/pseuds/Starshe11
Summary: “So what if they see? What do you have to be ashamed of?” | Artistic!Reader | Writer!Reader





	Hidden

You had always been an artistic soul.

Drawing, writing…it didn’t matter what sort of method you used. You would create content, whether for any of the numerous fandoms you were in or your own original work.

And you loved doing it with every fiber of your being.

 

…Well, except for one.

 

Your parents never seemed to approve of what you did, no matter how good you had gotten at it over the years. As two of Insomnia’s most brilliant minds, they were of the firm belief that diagrams and words would not get you anywhere…unless they were used in a scientific publication, of course.

An ideal you strongly disagreed with.

While you weren’t exactly at the bottom of the barrel when it came to math and science, you weren’t exactly top of the class either.

No, your specialty lay with expression through color, through words, through song. Your talents were greatly admired at school, garnering you the adoration of both students and teachers. Even the principal, who had once been the editor-in-chief of one of the local newspapers, said your work was exceptional for your age.

 

But it still wasn’t good enough to convince them.

 

“Get your head out of the clouds,” they had admonished for the nth time. “Engaging and specializing in those types of activities will not keep you fed, nor will they ensure a secure future.”

And you knew this to be true.

You had heard all the horror stories. 

 

Struggling artists who lived in their parents’ basements, waiting to catch a lucky break from major publishers or design companies.

Amateur authors, struggling to make ends meet by taking shitty part-time jobs in the hopes of their manuscript being chosen out of a thousand others.

Undiscovered musicians, playing on the streets of Insomnia no matter what the weather in case a talent agent just happens to pass by and take note of their work.

Combined with your parents’ threats to disown you should you traverse down this path, you had just about given up on pursuing it professionally, instead resigning and preparing yourself to enroll in the course and university they chose for you months ago.

 

Not to say that you stopped creating, of course…it was just in secret now.

Well, at least until you met him.

—–XV—–

Looking back at it now, your fated meeting seemed like something straight out of your fluffiest stories.

 

You, leisurely walking home after taking your finals, your head stuck in the clouds as you were thinking about the ending of your next story.

Him, a disheveled and panicking mess of blonde hair and freckles, yelling about being late to meet his best friend at the arcade.

 

You, unaware of your surroundings.

Him, running toward you at full speed.

 

The both of you, your bodies meeting the pavement with a resounding ‘thud’.

Frenzied apologies from both sides, followed by sheepish laughter and an exchanging of numbers.

An awkward meet-cute that soon bloomed into something wonderful.

 

Every moment you and Prompto Argentum had together was electric.

It didn’t matter whether you were out painting the town red, or chilling and playing video games at his place.

All that mattered was that you had each other.

That you both accepted the other for who they were without judgement.

 

That (surprisingly) your parents accepted him for the lovable dork he was, despite his grades, an important factor to them.

Then it happened.

The day he brought up you coming out to your parents about your true passion.

—–XV—–

It was an ordinary day for the two of you, spent at his house, with him showing you his latest shots, and you attempting to recreate them, this time using your sketchbook.

When you had just finished your latest work (a portrait of Prompto goofing off with Prince Noctis, whom you had also befriended), he showered you with praise as he always did.

 

Then he brought it up.

 

“You should totally enter that art contest next month, Y/N!” He chirped. “You’d win for sure!”

Prom (as you affectionately called him) had been doing this for quite a while now, ever since you he found out about your talents.

Encouraging you to join competitions, putting up exhibits, sending your stuff to a publisher, joining open-mic night at the cafe near school.

You, ever patient, simply deflected his concerns and joked your way out of these conversations.

 

But even you had your limits.

Even with a boyfriend as sweet as he was.

 

“No way in hell,” you hissed, glare cold as ice.

“But why not?” He pouted, something you normally found endearing.

But this time, it only served to push you further over the edge.

 

“You know damn well why not.” You growled. “My parents, remember? They’re members of the PTA this year, so they’ll definitely get wind of this.”

“So what if they see?” His tone was firm and encouraging. “What do you have to be ashamed of?”

As Prompto’s words lingered in the air, you could feel the last fibers of your patience snapping.

 

Then all hell broke loose.

 

“Ashamed of?! Ashamed of?! You don’t understand!”

You raged like you never had before, tossing your sketchbook to the side.

 

“I’m not ashamed of my work! But how many times do you think I’ve tried to make them understand?!”

You screamed at the top of your lungs as you pushed him away.

 

“They always just put me down for doing what I love!”

You flipped over the coffee table, scattering magazines and food onto the floor.

 

“You don’t get it, how much I’ve craved the freedom to express myself!”

You pointed an accusing finger at him, hatred burning in your eyes.

 

“You’ve got it easy, because your parents aren’t around!”

As soon as you said it, you broke down into a sobbing mess on the floor.

 

Regretting your cutting words.

Regretting the lies you told.

Regretting the secrets you kept.

Regretting the hurt you inflicted, on both Prompto and yourself.

 

The silence was deafening, the tension in the air threatening to swallow you whole.

You couldn’t bear it anymore.

The hiding.

The rejection.

Your boyfriend’s face, most likely stricken with hurt at the moment.

 

So when you felt a pair of arms wrap around you tightly, you couldn’t help but let out a gasp.

A gasp which turned into more sobs, as he held you and whispered sweet words into your ear.

 

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to say it.”

As he stroked your hair.

 

“I shouldn’t have pushed too hard. I’m sorry.”

 

As he wiped away your tears.

“I love you, and everything that you do.”

 

As he kissed you tenderly.

“I just can’t stand to see you hurting anymore.”

 

As you came to an important decision.

 

‘Neither can I…’

‘I have to change.’

—–XV—–

You ended up entering the competition after all, your painting of the Citadel at sunset earning you first prize.

Prompto and Noctis stood by your side as you received your award, a certificate and around ten thousand in prize money.

It was a wonderful day, one of the best you’d ever had.

A day when you had never felt more free, or more at peace with yourself.

 

“Y/N! What is the meaning of this?!”

Until you got home, that is.

 

“Mom, Dad,” you smiled nervously as you showed them your prize. “I won.”

“I thought you stopped with this nonsense months ago.” Your father’s gaze was stony, his posture rigid.

Glancing at your mother, she looked to be in a similar state. Her eyes filled with fire, unyielding.

 

This was it.

The moment of truth.

‘So what if they see? What do you have to be ashamed of?’

Prompto’s words echoed in your head as you took a deep breath, steadying yourself for the battle to come.

 

‘3…2…1…’


End file.
